This Ship is Ours to Wreck
by Fiercest
Summary: It's 1950 and Peggy Carter makes an emergency landing on Themyscira.


The last thing that Peggy thinks about before ejecting is that she should have apologized to her mother. She doesn't call often enough. The war claimed her sons, but left her wayward daughter; the occasional heavily redacted update on her life isn't too much to ask, is it? Mrs. Carter would say not.

Peggy's seat rockets into the air and for a moment she feels the divine weightlessness before descent. She pulls her chute and only then does she spare a moment to absorb the majesty around her. Chrystal blue ocean, and a clear sky. Rocky outcroppings jut out of the water, like buttresses holding up the heavens, an island cliff side crowned with lush green.

A person, standing alone on a white, sandy beach.

Peggy squints into the distance and doubts herself. Is she dead? Imagining things? Was she more off-course than she thought? She should be surrounded by nothing but the cold Atlantic for miles.

Thank god for Howard. Adrenaline keeps her from feeling it, but she knows that her shoulders and chest will be badly bruised, not to mention the whiplash. Older ejection seat models would have broken her collarbones, maybe even her neck, with the force of her egress.

When she reaches the appropriate height she unbuckles herself from the seat and readies herself. She stands and holds the rigging of her parachute for balance. When she hits the water she hastily dives beneath the surface to avoid becoming tangled in the chute and drowning. She comes up for air and looks off into the direction where her plane crashed. It's nothing but charred and disassembled bits floating in the Atlantic now.

Peggy swims towards shore.

By the time she arrives, she's exhausted, the adrenaline has worn off. Every muscle in her body is screaming in agony at varying volumes. By the time she's shallow enough for the water to reach her knees, she can't stand and crawls the rest of the way. She drags herself up onto the beach, barely out of reach of the lapping waves. She wants to roll onto her back, the sand is scratchy on her cheek and some of it has gotten in her mouth, but she can't muster the energy.

Something blots out the sun.

"Hello," Peggy says pleasantly.

"Hello," a husky voice replies, equally pleasant. "Are you hungry?" The sound of an apple or peach being bitten into.

"Everything tastes of the sea," Peggy complains. She feels herself being rolled onto her back.

Above her stands a woman, possibly the most beautiful woman Peggy's ever seen in real life. Her hair is tied up in an intricate braid and she's wearing golden armour. At her lips is a purplish fruit that is unfamiliar. Peggy realises that the woman has rolled her over using her foot.

With a surge of energy, only to be found because of English politeness, Peggy raises up her hand and holds it out for a shake. "Peggy Carter, it's a pleasure to meet you."

This seems to make the stunning stranger laugh. "The pleasure is all mine. I am Diana."

Diana takes her hand and for a woeful moment, Peggy assumes that she's going to pull her to her feet. This will inevitably end in embarrassment for all parties involved. Instead, Diana crouches beside her.

"Diana, if you don't mind, where am I?"

"Themyscira."

"I see." Peggy, having attended Oxford, had, of course, studied classics. She's lived a strange life and seen many things. She doesn't doubt for a moment that a myth could be real. Confronted with the reality sitting by her side, offering snacks, Peggy can do nothing but shrug. Mentally. Alas, she lacks the capability and inclination at the moment.

"You are English?"

"I am."

"Are you a spy?"

"What a strange question."

"We have a track record of spies finding our isle."

"I have a knack for finding trouble."

"Do I seem like trouble to you?" Diana takes another bite and smiles as if that's the greatest compliment one could give her.

"Well, this is an island with its own weather system, it's not on any maps and is apparently a hub for spies. Will I find those spies' head on stakes?"

"How barbaric. We do not need to warn our enemies in advance."

"Somehow that is of little comfort."

Another bite and a long companionable silence, wherein Peggy almost drifts into unconsciousness.

"Can you walk?" Diana finally asks.

"I'm quite comfortable here, don't you worry."

"The tide will be in soon."

Peggy contemplates the singular comfort of drowning.

With no warning, she suddenly finds herself being swept off her feet. "Very dashing," she commends her. Diana, it seems, is very strong. She can feel the rippling of her muscles under her knees and around her shoulders but sees no exertion in her face.

"So what is your story, Peggy Carter?"

"I'm a spy," says Peggy with just enough cheek to leave Diana in doubt.


End file.
